


a live feed and a can-do attitude

by fangirl_squee



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Gig is a good pal and is just very happy to be here with his friends, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, spoilers up until Twilight Mirage 31: This Year of Ours: The Mechanic, very light implied Gig Kep-hart/Kent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 09:00:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13384503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl_squee/pseuds/fangirl_squee
Summary: “Because at the end, you get an ice skating rink”Gig’s always felt that you get out of life what you put into it. It’s why he always tries to put in the most he possibly can. It seems to be working out so far.





	a live feed and a can-do attitude

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS!!! For up until Twilight Mirage 31: This Year of Ours: The Mechanic
> 
> and thanks to maddie, for betaing and for letting me talk about gig for hours and hours

Gig is so excited to see his old teammates. And nervous. But mostly excited! It’s like, a 90/10 split, 80/20 at  _ most _ . Either way, it’s a lot of extra pent-up energy, especially when you’re stuck on a ship with nothing to do.

 

It’s very weird to not be building something, or even  _ planning _ to build something. Cascara said he should save planning until he actually  _ got _ there, something about not getting ahead of himself, which is kind of strange, because how else do you plan other than thinking ahead of where you are right now.

 

He makes a few videos on the way, some that are more casual updates, keeping his trip specifics vague (Cascara’s idea-slash-kind of order) while he answers audience Q and As, and some that are the ship repairs he does on the way (he chose passage on an old freighter for a reason, plus the captain was always really nice when he dropped supplies down to Brighton, and it’s nice to feel like he’s  _ doing _ something instead of just sitting around).

 

Gig does give himself a day before the ship lands to just sit in his room. He tells the captain that he’s preparing his stuff for landing, but really he spends most of the day lying in bed, methodically grooming Duck’s mane. Neither of them say much. It’s very soothing.

 

He makes sure to get them both prepared for cold weather before they land. It’s been a bit of a scramble to find anything really appropriate on Brighton, but Kent had helped out. Kent has been  _ such _ a great pal in the past year. Gig was going to miss him - his willingness to go along with Gig’s ideas, his melodical way of speaking, his excitement at all the new people arriving on Brighton.

 

And his hands. Kent had very nice hands: talented, and gentle, and warm. Gig sighed, a little longingly, thinking about them. 

 

At least Kent had said that he was welcome back any time. Hopefully he could make that work with whatever the new job was that Cascara had planned for him. (Of  _ course _ he could, he was Gig Kep-hart! He could make anything work!). 

 

Whatever it was, it sounded like he’d be  _ very _ busy. Gig grinned up at the ceiling. Being very busy helping people with his friends. This was going to be so  _ great _ .

 

\--

 

Even takes a deep breath before he enters the room, tugging awkwardly at the thick jacket Cascara’s people gave him when he arrived. He doesn’t really need it. He doesn’t really need  _ most _ kind of clothing any more. He stopped really feeling heat or cold a while ago, the physical sensation of them becoming more and more distant until they almost disappeared completely.

 

Still. He understands the value in having them all in  _ some _ kind of uniform, especially since he looms above most people now. He’s not sure when he got so tall. He didn’t really notice.

 

Even takes another slow breath in and lets it out even slower, before he hits the button to open the door. He has to duck to get through the doorway, and when he looks up, he sees he’s the last to arrive - Gig and Grand seated at the small table and Echo leaning against the wall. He also notices that everyone is  _ staring _ .

 

“ _ Even _ ?” says Grand.

 

Listen, Even knows how he looks now. The Fleet might have had a close relationship with technology, but most people didn’t get as intertwined as he was, and certainly not to the extent he is now.

 

He feels the plates on his back shift, a nervous twitch.

 

“ _ Wow _ ,” says Gig. He hops off where he was sitting on the table and steps towards Even, using his hand to measure the height between them the way a child might. “This is so cool, you’re so  _ tall _ now! You definitely weren’t this tall before, right? How’d you do that?”

 

Even laughs, feeling the plates on his back settle. He’s missed this bright spark of a man. 

 

“Yes, I did get taller,” says Even, “Not intentionally, but… these things happen, I guess.”

 

Echo gives them both a curious look. “I guess they do.”

 

Grand nods, fiddling with his sleeves.

 

Gig grins up at him, wide and delighted. “ _ Wow _ , and your  _ hair _ ! Dude!”

 

Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

  
  


\--

  
  


Some of the missions Cascara sends them on really  _ are _ like she said -- helping people build things, or repair things, or even just helping people to  _ want _ to build and repair things (at least, that’s what  _ he _ does on those missions. Sometimes the others will disappear without explanation together and come back looking a little rougher than before, but Gig’s not going to pry. They’re on stream after all).

 

Other times, well… Other times, they kind of get shot at.

 

Gig still not a great shot, but he’s a  _ great _ rider (although, maybe that’s because Duck’s such a good friend). Duck leaps over a low wall and Gig grabs the person hiding behind it, swinging them over Duck’s back and galloping out of the cramped warehouse. He can probably do okay one-on-one, and all he  _ really _ has to do is knock this person out.

 

He keeps going until the sounds of the others fade a little, far enough that if-slash-hopefully-when he knocks this person out that they won’t get caught in the crossfire. Gig pushes them off Duck’s back, jumping down to face them so he can -- oh.

 

“Armstrong! Hey!” says Gig, delighted, “I didn’t know it was you!”

 

Armstrong rubs his shoulder where he must have hit the ground. “Yeah, I figured.”

 

“Sorry!” says Gig.

 

Armstrong huffs a laugh. His hand stays on his arm, holding it close to himself and not trying to get up off the ground. On one hand, Gig is probably supposed to use this to his advantage, work his arm so that he can have the upper hand. On the other hand...

 

“Sorry,” says Gig again, quieter. “Hey, um, I think I put some first aid stuff in Duck’s bag, if you want?”

 

“Just bruised I think,” says Armstrong.

 

“Oh, I have some stuff for that,” says Gig.

 

He turns away from Armstrong. Duck is already helpfully holding out the gel to him.

 

“Thanks!” says Gig.

 

Duck snorts, closing the bag with his mane.

 

Armstrong raises his eyebrows, nodding towards Duck. “Quite the medic you have there.”

 

“Duck? Oh, yeah, he’s great,” says Gig. He flicks his eyes over the instruction on the small tube. “It says it absorbs into the skin to temporarily prevent pain in the affected area.” He pauses. “I think that probably means I need to see the affected area.”

 

Armstrong lets out an amused breath, not quite a laugh, but close enough to it for warmth. “Right.”

 

He shrugs out of the sleeve of his jumpsuit, wincing a little as he gets his arm out. There’s a purple bruise already forming, noticeable even on his dark skin. 

 

Gig makes a face. “ _ Ouch _ . Sorry.”

 

“Could be worse,” says Armstrong, “One of your friends has a gun. And another has a  _ sword _ .”

 

“We don’t want to hurt anybody,” says Gig.

 

“Maybe  _ you _ don’t,” says Armstrong, “I’m not sure your friends share that particular sentiment in this scenario.”

 

In the distance, there are the unmistakable sounds of gunfire. Thankfully, it sounds like it’s hitting metal walls rather than people. Gig swallows hard, trying to refocus on the task at hand.

 

He tentatively reaches out, smearing a small amount of the gel onto the bruise. Armstrong wrinkles his nose.

 

Gig draws back. “Sorry.”

 

“S’fine,” says Armstrong, “You can, uh, you can keep going.”

 

Gig tries to be extra gentle, rubbing the gel in slowly. He maybe takes a little longer than he needs to, but it’s important to be thorough with medical things, thorough, and careful, and,  _ wow _ , Armstrong has really nice arms. Gig shakes himself.

 

Armstrong must notice him pause, because he turns to look at Gig. Gig hopes he’s not blushing as much as he feels like he is. 

 

Armstrong  _ smirks _ , and Gig has seen that expression before, in a dimly-lit ship flying above Quire, when Armstrong was just as close to him as he is now. Or, well. Maybe a little closer.

 

Gig clears his throat. “I think you’re done? You’ll just have to wait for a bit for it to dry so it doesn’t get on your clothes.”

 

“For how long?” says Armstrong.

 

Gig looks down at the tube, humming thoughtfully. “It doesn’t say.”

 

Armstrong plucks the tube from his hand, leaning in so close his lips brush against Gig’s as he speaks. “Good. I hate time limits.”

 

“Me too,” says Gig, smiling as he leans in the rest of the way.

 

(Gig misses the rest of the fight. So does Armstrong. Neither of them can bring themselves to mind that much.)

 

\--

  
  


The planning session is taking much, much longer than it needs to, mainly because every time Echo suggests something, one of the  _ other _ members of Cascara’s team opens their stupid mouth to disagree. It’s not that Echo would  _ mind _ taking someone else’s direction, but  _ honestly _ , their suggestions have been such absolute bullshit that Echo feels pretty close to taking this meeting  _ outside _ .

 

They’re about to actually suggest it, almost, when Gig bounces into the room.

 

“Sorry I’m late! I had to finish this stream and then I got caught up in, you know,” Gig makes a gesture that could mean anything from ‘small talk with someone in the hall’ to ‘doing a whole extra stream unprompted’, “and I couldn’t get away.”

 

“That’s fine,” says Echo, trying not to sound annoyed. 

 

They suspect, from Gig’s expression, that they do not succeed.

 

“So, uh, catch me up?”

 

Echo takes a deep breath, and goes through the basics of their idea until they reach the point they’d been at before Gig entered, tentatively ending with their suggestion of the ending to the plan.

 

One of Cascara’s team opens their mouth, no doubt to disagree, again.

 

“Sounds great!” says Gig brightly.

 

Echo smirks at Cascara’s team. “It  _ does _ , doesn’t it?”

 

“Yeah,” says Gig, nodding, “definitely doable. No wonder Cascara put you in charge of this one.”

 

Echo blinks, trying not to let their surprise show on their face. That… was not something Cascara had covered in her briefing notes to them.

 

“Right,” says Echo, “Exactly.”

 

Gig turns towards them, so that his face is hidden from the opposing side of the table, and  _ winks _ . Echo curls their fingers under the table to try and suppress a grin.

 

“Exactly,” they say again. “That’s why Cascara put me  _ in charge _ .”

 

The rest of the planning session goes  _ much _ easier.

  
  


\--

  
  


They get downtime during their missions. Gig gets more than most, technically, because he has “normal” streams to do in-between the ones Cascara directs him towards, and that means he can't be sneaking into places or dodging gunfire and fists.

 

It's still work though, work that takes planning and energy and leaves Gig feeling as worn out as if he’s run the full length of their base with his vocal chords. While the others are out, searching the area (and while he’s trying not to worry about them), he pre-records a few things, small how-tos on little repairs, little things you can make with what you can find.

 

In a way, these ones are more fun to do, because it usually means he can have a guest on from the area, and sometimes that guest is someone he likes talking to.

 

He likes talking to Lily Lysander  _ very _ much.

 

She’s a natural on-stream, her voice clear as she talks about how to manipulate the clay around them, crafting it into structures, into homes.

 

“Even if you  _ can’t _ do it with your mind like me,” says Lily, smiling, “you can always find a friend with a good pair of hands to help.”

 

Gig laughs, grinning back at her. He knows the feeling in his chest is coming through on the stream too, uncurling in people all over this quadrant of space as they smile back at the image of Lily shaping the clay in the air. Gig’s so glad he gets to share this with so many people. It’s amazing. She’s amazing.

 

He tells her so, after they finish up the stream, and Lily’s smile widens.

 

“I know I am.”

 

Gig laughs, leaning back against the wall they built on the stream. It holds solid, which is good because now that his camera’s not on all he wants to do is lie down on the clay and go to sleep.

 

Lily’s smile falters slightly, and she puts a hand on his arm. “You okay?”

 

Gig pushes himself to smiles back at her. “Just tired.”

 

Lily nods. “I remember the Doc used to get this way sometimes when he’d get too into a topic. Still does.” She puts a hand on his shoulder. “You should probably, like, sit down.”

 

Gig doesn’t have the words left to argue, so he follows her movement. She sits down next to him, close enough that he can feel the heat coming off her bare legs. Gig watches as her hands move through the air, twisting the clay up out of the ground.

 

The clearing around them is quiet, the faint sounds of birds carried on the breeze. Neither of them speak, but the silence between them feels warm and restful. Gig lets his body relax, leaning his head against Lily’s shoulder. He can see her lips quirk upwards out of the corner of his eye, and his own lips move in response.

 

The others will be back later, and he’ll have to be back on then. But it’s not a bad way to spend his afternoon.

  
  


\--

  
  


Some nights, Grand can’t sleep. Sometimes, it’s because of whatever thing he was thinking of before he went to bed, a conversation that stirred up memories of cruel glass and misfired bullets. Other times he lies down, body and mind exhausted, until a dream shakes him awake.

 

It’s hard to want to shut his eyes after that, and he’s had enough of lying in dark rooms staring at the ceiling and thinking about his mistakes in the past five years, so instead he gets up and pads through the dimmed hallways of the ship to the small kitchen.

 

Grand stops with a start at the doorway. Despite the late hour, Gig’s sitting on one of the cramped counters, swinging his feet a little and sipping from a chipped blue mug. His face brightens as he looks at Grand.

 

“Uh, hey,” says Grand, “can’t sleep?”

 

Gig makes a face. “Haven’t tried to sleep yet. I was doing a late night stream. Star navigation, sort of.”

 

“Right,” says Grand. He curls his toes, pressing them into the cold metal floor.

 

“Do you want a hot chocolate?” says Gig, “I just made one, I think there’s still a bit left.”

 

“Sure,” says Grand.

 

He’ll drink this and then get out of here, maybe go up to the viewing deck, probably no one there this time of night--

 

“So what about you?” says Gig, “Can’t sleep?”

 

Grand shrugs.

 

Gig’s feet thump softly against the cupboard as he swings them. “You wanna talk about it?”

 

Grand freezes. He should have said no to the hot chocolate. He should have just walked on by the kitchen the second he saw someone was already in here, pretended he was on the way to the bathroom or something.

 

“Definitely not,” says Grand.

 

He braces himself for a barrage of invasive questions, feeling Gig’s gaze burning the back of his neck.

 

“Okay,” says Gig.

 

_ Thump thump _ , go Gig’s feet against the cupboard.

 

Grand turns around.”What do you mean  _ okay _ ?”

 

Gig blinks. “What do you mean what do I mean? I asked if you want to talk about it and you said you don’t. I’m not going to argue with you.”

 

“You’re… not,” says Grand.

 

“I’m not,” says Gig.

 

“Okay,” says Grand slowly, turning back towards the stove.

 

“ _ Okay _ ,” says Gig.

 

“Good. Great,” says Grand.

 

_ Thump thump _ , go Gig’s heels against the cupboard.

 

Grand turns to get a mug for himself out of the cupboard. At the front of the crowd of mugs is his old enamel mug, the one he’d bought before he’d set off from an overpriced store on Memorious. He turns it over slowly in his hands, looking at the small scratches in the once-flawless enamel paint. There’s a big chip missing from the handle, and Grand runs his thumb over it. It’s such a big missing piece. He doesn’t remember when it got that way.

 

He jumps as Gig puts a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Hey, are you okay?”

 

Grand wipes his eyes, avoiding Gig’s gaze. “I’m fine.”

 

Gig doesn’t move his hand from Grand’s shoulder. “It’s okay if you’re not fine.”

 

“Is it?” says Grand.

 

“Sure it is,” says Gig, “You wanted to build something and, so, maybe it turned out to be kind of terrible, but sometimes that’s what happens.”

 

“It doesn’t happen to  _ you _ ,” says Grand, still looking down at the chipped mug in his hands.

 

Gig considers this for a moment. “I guess that’s true.” He leans forward and covers Grand’s hand with his where he’s holding the mug. “But that’s probably because I never try to do anything alone. And you don’t have to anymore.”

 

Grand swallows, forcing himself to meet Gig’s eyes. Gig squeezes his hand, smiling warmly at him.

 

“You should try and remember that, y’know, when you can’t sleep,” says Gig, “and if you can’t, you should come wake me up, and I can remind you.”

 

Grand makes a face. “I’m not a little kid, running to someone’s room when I have a nightmare.”

 

Gig leans forward in the cramped space, pressing a kiss to the corner of Grand’s lips, lightning fast.

 

“Not what I meant,” says Gig.

 

Grand manages to pull himself together enough to shut his mouth. “Oh.”

 

Gig grins. “Yeah.” He slips off the counter, squeezing Grand hand again before he heads out of the kitchen. “Night Grand.”

 

“Yeah,” says Grand, staring at the space Gig had been sitting, “Night.”

 

The last few minutes plays in a loop in Grand’s mind for a while before he lets out a long breath, putting the mug back in the cupboard and taking the small saucepan of hot chocolate off the stove.

 

Maybe, instead, he’ll go see if Gig’s still up.

  
  


\--

  
  


Cascara keeps Gig’s stream on in the background while she works. Sometimes she leaves the  sound off, but mostly she just keep the volume of it low, a cheerful murmur in the background. She has a lot of people telling her a lot of bad news, and sometimes it’s nice to glance over at the spot near her desk where Gig’s stream is being projected and see him helping build a community centre or teach people how to build their own sink.

 

And, of course, sometimes it’s useful to monitor the situation.

 

_ Where the hell is Gig _ ? says Even.

 

He sounds frazzled. Cascara has only really been listening with half an ear to this mission, since it was fairly low physical risk but with a high chance of becoming an hour’s long debate (and honestly, she’s had enough of that for several lifetimes).

 

_ I don’t know _ , snaps Echo,  _ Grand was supposed to be with him _ .

 

_ He said he was going to do something and be right back _ , Grand mutters.

 

Cascara flicks her gaze to Gig’s stream. He’s standing at the top of a ladder, attaching a rope ladder to the door of the treehouse he’s been building.

 

Gig grins.  _ Now remember kids, when you’re building something, always remember-- _

 

_ Safety first!! _ The crowd of kids on the stream chorus.

 

Gig laughs.  _ That’s right _ !

 

He straightens his bright orange hard hat. Cascara turns the volume back down as he narrates how to affix the rope to the tree so it will hold.

 

“Gig’s fine,” says Cascara. “He’s working. Stop worrying about him and focus on negotiating.”

 

_ He’s working _ ? says Grand,  _ Can’t he come help us with this? _

 

On the stream, Gig holds a little girl up so she can make the finishing touches to the treehouse they’re building, adding a wobbly line of bright yellow paint to the top of the doorframe. Gig beams, and the little girl beams back at him, and then they both look back up to the wobbly line of bright, welcoming yellow. It’s a perfect shot.

 

“No,” says Cascara, “He’s busy.”

  
  


\--

  
  


The past few mission have been back-to-back. All very quiet, thankfully, helping people build houses and figure out plumbing systems that work on a planet that seems to be one big swamp.

 

And Gig streamed it all, or quite a bit of it anyway. He’d done a pretty good job of it, if he did say so himself, interviewing people and getting the local population on-stream. People always liked that, and he liked that they liked that, broadcasting their joy at building something as far as he could. He was really,  _ really _ glad he’d taken this job.

 

He was also really,  _ really _ glad that this particular run of jobs was over so he could lie down.

 

Gig shut the door of his room behind him, flopping down on the bed and toeing off his muddy shoes. They made a wet slapping sound against the metal floor of the ship and Gig huffed a laugh.

 

He could hear people walking past the door, a muffled, distant argument over who got the first shower. Gig closed his eyes, focusing on the sound of his breathing, blocking out all other sound and thought. He sighed.

 

When they landed back at the base, there would be things to do, and say, and stream. But for now, he could rest.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi: mariusperkins on most places


End file.
